𝙰𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚅𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚝 𝙾𝚖𝚗𝚒𝚊 》𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚋𝚞𝚜 𝙰𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘

1.11

TO SAY THAT Annabeth was annoyed with Kyra was an understatement. The raven-haired girl didn't know what she did to make her annoyed, but she guessed it had something to do with the fact that she was the only one who hadn't forgotten her backpack.

"Well, to be fair," Percy had told the blonde, "Kyra never takes her bag off. Like, ever. If she had to pick between us or her bag, she'd choose the bag every time."

Kyra had argued against his words, but it was futile, because none of them would hear it. Maybe he had a point, she'd had this backpack for years, so she had great sentiment for it. There wasn't anything especially unique or special about it, but it had been one of the only constants in her life, and was impeccably useful.

But that was besides the point.

The demigod's ankle had erupted back into a fiery pain whilst on their long walk, but not wanting the others to find out, she hid it. She wouldn't have minded taking another piece of ambrosia and eating it, but that would be suspicious, and Percy was like an insufferable mother-hen when she got hurt. There was no way she was going to deal with that, so she decided to wait until she had some privacy.

Besides, it wasn't long (okay, that was a lie) before they stumbled across a weird warehouse with a disproportionate amount of statues in the lawn, so Kyra supposed that was as good a time as any to have thirty seconds of privacy.

They walked up to the gate, which had neon red writing on it. The three demigods looked at each other in confusion, all not being able to read it.

"Aunt Em's Garden Gnome Emporium," Grover translated for them.

They slowly made their ways to the warehouse doors, glancing at every statue gracing the lawn. Whoever had made these was talented, that was for sure. The girl had never seen a statue with such detail, not even ones made by notable sculptors. One of them, according to Grover, even looked like his Uncle Ferdinand. Kyra had no idea who that was, but it was definitely strange how a statue looked like someone he knew.

"Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters."

"Your nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I can smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"

"Grover doesn't eat meat," Kyra told the blonde, as a disdainful look crossed Grover's face. "He's vegetarian."

"But you eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy told the satyr, noting the contradiction.

Yes, Kyra was aware that most vegetarians didn't eat cheese, like Grover did, but there were a select few who did. Apparently if the dairy was cultivated in an ethical way, it was okay, which made sense to her. Kind of.

"Those are vegetables." Grover said. "Come on. Let's leave. These statues are...looking at me."

Before anyone could get another word out, the door creaked open, and a tall woman stood before them. Kyra inspected her for a moment, before deciding that she was Middle Eastern—and no, not because of the veil and modest clothes she wore. It was more of an intuition. Divine, if you will.

"Children," the woman started, and considering how her voice sounded Middle Eastern, Kyra took that as confirmation. "It is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"

"They're...um..." Annabeth stuttered.

"We're orphans," Percy finished for her.

"Orphans?" The woman asked. "But, my dears! Surely not!"

"We got separated from our caravan," he continued. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?"